Blood on The Tracks
L. has to get up at 2:30a to be at work by 4:00a. Em is two hours into his slumber. Sea Turtle is on top of his head. Ta is snug in his crook. (Good old Ta.) I’m listening to Blood On The Tracks. Just finished Some Girls. Haven’t listened to either in a long while. Law and Order SVU was about child molestation. Disturbing.
Em and I went to the Red Caboose Park and the Germ Pit at the mall this afternoon. He got some good running done and it was a nice time. He has a tough time comprehending that some kids are simply mean. It will be difficult for me to not be overbearing as he continues to grow. Autopilot says scoop that Boy up and protect him from every bad thing there is. It is not an easy thing to let him experience the negative. For every flash of joy that traces my very being when he sees something new or is particularly happy, or proud of a new accomplishment, a thousand heartaches overwhelm me when he realizes that some people are just fuckers. His inclination is toward decency at most every turn; and putting as much bias aside as I can manage, I’ll say he is a nice person—generous and kind. He is genuinely baffled when confronted by a kid whose sole motivation is self, the promotion of self, or “let me knock you out of the way so I can get myself to the slide more quickly.” Meanness for meanness sake is a foreign concept to The Boy. That pleases me. I am comforted knowing that he will be the kid in school who comes to the aid of the one being belittled or bullied. He’ll befriend the friendless. Help when and where help is required. I have to resist that autopilot urge to protect him from all the bad. For one, it cannot be done. For another, it would be the worst thing I could do to him. He absolutely must know the unpleasant in order to appreciate the good. I do, though, wish I could absorb every pain he is likely to experience. Christ, how selfish is that?
Dalton’s was as crowded as I’ve seen it last night. I suppose folks are just stir-crazy with winter and rain at every turn. A couple Woodfords and draughts worked fine.
Lyle Lovett croons to me now from a mixed CD I’ve put on. I wrote a short story once called Lyle Lovett’s Crooked Smile. It stemmed from the time I saw him perform Tennessee Flattop Box for a Johnny Cash Tribute show. Terrible story. Great image. Great performance.
The rain is supposed to come back tomorrow. I hope it isn’t cold. And I hope to get some boxes put away. And I hope to be rested. And I hope I can figure things out. And I hope spring arrives in the mail on Monday.
And I hope Emerson always sleeps with Ta snug in his crook.
Em and I went to the Red Caboose Park and the Germ Pit at the mall this afternoon. He got some good running done and it was a nice time. He has a tough time comprehending that some kids are simply mean. It will be difficult for me to not be overbearing as he continues to grow. Autopilot says scoop that Boy up and protect him from every bad thing there is. It is not an easy thing to let him experience the negative. For every flash of joy that traces my very being when he sees something new or is particularly happy, or proud of a new accomplishment, a thousand heartaches overwhelm me when he realizes that some people are just fuckers. His inclination is toward decency at most every turn; and putting as much bias aside as I can manage, I’ll say he is a nice person—generous and kind. He is genuinely baffled when confronted by a kid whose sole motivation is self, the promotion of self, or “let me knock you out of the way so I can get myself to the slide more quickly.” Meanness for meanness sake is a foreign concept to The Boy. That pleases me. I am comforted knowing that he will be the kid in school who comes to the aid of the one being belittled or bullied. He’ll befriend the friendless. Help when and where help is required. I have to resist that autopilot urge to protect him from all the bad. For one, it cannot be done. For another, it would be the worst thing I could do to him. He absolutely must know the unpleasant in order to appreciate the good. I do, though, wish I could absorb every pain he is likely to experience. Christ, how selfish is that?
Dalton’s was as crowded as I’ve seen it last night. I suppose folks are just stir-crazy with winter and rain at every turn. A couple Woodfords and draughts worked fine.
Lyle Lovett croons to me now from a mixed CD I’ve put on. I wrote a short story once called Lyle Lovett’s Crooked Smile. It stemmed from the time I saw him perform Tennessee Flattop Box for a Johnny Cash Tribute show. Terrible story. Great image. Great performance.
The rain is supposed to come back tomorrow. I hope it isn’t cold. And I hope to get some boxes put away. And I hope to be rested. And I hope I can figure things out. And I hope spring arrives in the mail on Monday.
And I hope Emerson always sleeps with Ta snug in his crook.
posted by Ryan at 12:54 AM
2 Comments:
Em already has his character, didn't you see it from the beginning? He'll be fine, we are less influential than we think. I just try and not get in the way of their destiny, which is the hard thing for most parents. Love is the most important thing, and you have a lot of it, I can tell.
Each day is a lesson, that's for sure. I'm not nearly as bad as I once was about second-guessing my every action. As for his character, you are right. It was crystal clear from the moment our eyes met. Thank you for your nice note.
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